


daddy didn't love you

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, M/M, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: This boy was different. Because he wasn't a near image, a distorted mirror reflection of a memory, but the product of that memory.





	daddy didn't love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ophvelias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophvelias/gifts), [JackEPeace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/gifts).



> It started off as a misread comment and a joke about how Holden Radcliffe is clearly sugar daddy material and turned into this slightly ooc mess. Because I take crack concepts too seriously. (feat low key Holdstair vibes cause you know me.)
> 
> Dedicated to my two sinners on twitter, literally nobody else but you better read this fic wow. 
> 
> ESPECIALLY ALEXA DO NOT READ THIS FIC! STOP NOW, IDK HOW YOUVE MANAGED TO MAKE IT THIS FAR BUT IF YOU HAVE TURN BACK
> 
> not proofed because i literally would have deleted this wow

 

He knows the second he meets the boy that there’s something special about him. 

Something different, and it’s not just because he is the epitome of Holden’s type. 

It’s more that that.

He figures it out later, when he hears a name  _ Fitz _ . 

A name that he hasn’t heard in years, but he should have known. How could he not have? In hindsight it was so clear.

That was why, once that whole  _ mess  _ was over, and he was on probation, stuck in the States, his research being scrutinized, he can’t help himself. What’s a bit of funding, money he’s had laying around for years. Funding the projects that SHIELD wouldn’t let him work on. That their lack of budget and imagination and new sets of rules prohibited. 

It becomes a hobby of sorts.

An interest of Holden’s. 

An excuse to spend more time together.

A curiosity.

Leopold Fitz is a curiosity of his.

He just never expected the boy to notice.

 

*

 

He remembers a train ride years ago, back when he was working on his thesis, graduate school bogging him down and someone had appeared.

Someone he had loved and lost.

No, maybe  _ loved  _ wasn’t the right word.

Someone who had fucked him into his dorm room mattress and pretended that it meant nothing in the morning.

Someone who was sitting there with a bottle of cheap booze and a photo of a baby too young to be held back by either.

He’d just never thought that  _ that  _ would lead to this.

But Alistair had always had a way of doing that, leaving people desperate and fucked up and all too aware of the space he used to occupy. 

 

*

 

It's not hard to notice the similarities. 

In truth that was what drew him to the kid originally, those sparkling blue eyes, the way his lips tilted up to a smiles, the faintest hint of freckles across his skin. 

Similarities to a man he hadn't seen in years.

Holden had a type. Young men and women with wide eyes and dreams too big for their pocket books. He had a habit of indulging in those urges occasionally.

This was different though.

This boy was different.

Because he wasn't a near image, a distorted mirror reflection of a memory, but the  _ product  _ of that memory.

The product that was currently on his knees in front of Holden ready to offer his  _ thanks  _ for funding his research.

Something Holden finds himself suddenly unable to handle.

“Stop.”

Leopold looks up with him with too wide eyes, confused, this is at least an expression Alistair never wore, a way to differentiate between the two of them.

Still he does rock back a bit, moves away from Holden enough that he can remember how to breathe. 

He wishes he could manage to look away from Leopold before asking, “What are you doing?”

“I’m blowing you, or I would be,” Leopold answers far too blunt.

There’s a hint of something like confidence in his features, that fades after a moment when Holden does not respond. He ducks his head downwards, but does not get up from his kneeling position. 

“Did I misunderstand the situation?”

“You, certainly-”

“Because I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Holden finally finds it in himself to ask, “Why?” better than acknowledging the way he  _ has  _ been looking at Leopold. Because he can’t deny it. 

“As thanks,” he says, voice litting up at the end like it’s a question.

“I don’t - as  _ thanks, _ Leopold, get up,” Holden says, his voice breaking over the words, while other parts of him very much disagree with what he’s saying. The part of him that likes the image of Leopold on his knees before him. 

There’s genuine hurt in his voice when he says, “You don’t want me?”

“I don’t want you to think that you owe me,” Holden says.

Leopold makes an almost dismissive noise at that but he does finally stand up, choosing to lean against the lab table instead. There’s something about the way he looks, not ashamed, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, shirt rumpled, dirt on the knees of his pants.

He looks so much like - 

“I thought it was obvious. You’ve been funding my research, the stuff that SHIELD wouldn’t let me investigate. This isn’t cheap.”

“It’s not,” Holden acknowledges, “But that doesn’t explain-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Leopold repeats again, this time more adamant. “Daisy made a joke the other day about you being my sugar daddy, and I didn’t put it all together until today, but … It makes sense. I don’t mind.” 

Holden wants to say that he does mind, but he can’t. He can’t make the words come, because this is morally wrong.

Not because of the age gap, or because of the homosexualty, or any of that but because this is  _ Alistair’s son _ . 

“I helped you because you’re smart,”  _ and you remind me of someone _ , “Not because-”

“So you don’t want to fuck me,” Leopold asks.

He can’t answer that, because he does. He hates that he does. That a part of him is weak enough to want this.

Instead of answering, his lets his eyes linger on Leopold’s features, on those familiar and unfamiliar, on soft pink lips. 

“At least let me kiss you?”

 

*

 

They end up on the couch watching football with a careful space between them and two beers and this is normal. 

As long as he ignores the way his lips still seem to tingle, as long as he ignores the way he barely stopped himself from taking more, as long as he pretends he hasn’t done something like this before.

He knows how this work.

Though before she’d curled her lips up into a faux innocent smile and called him her  _ patron _ . 

Leopold is different from Agnes. 

Starkly so. 

“We need to set some ground rules,” he says when he can’t focus on the game anymore.

Leopold sits up straighter, looks away from the television, looks at him as though he can see right through Holden.

Perhaps he can.

“I could call you  _ daddy  _ if you like,” Leopold says, “Some men like that.”

Holden nearly spills his beer on himself. His expression must betray himself because Leopold lets out a little laugh, running his finger along the top of his bottle in a way that should not be so distracting.

“You have much experience with that?” 

“I’ve done this sort of thing before,” he admits. Holden knew that, had seen that sort of  _ experience  _ there in his eyes when he’d dropped to his knees in the middle of their lab, but he hadn’t known it was to this extent. “Some men like the image of it while I pretend that-”

“That you’re fucking your father?”

“Daddy issues,” Leopold says with a shrug that is not an answer at all, and Holden would point that out were his next words not, “Do you?”

“Have daddy issues?”

“No, imagine fucking my father,” Leopold says with a voice that is so serious Holden’s heart nearly stops. 

Of all the things he expected to be asked,  _ this _ , exactly what he had been imaging was not it. 

He’s saved by Leopold laughing a second later, “Sorry- Your face- I just-  Do you want me to call you  _ daddy _ \-  that’s what I meant?” 

“Oh,” that made more sense. Of course. “You don’t have to.” 

“Has anyone ever before?”

This time he follows the line of the conversation. “There was another one before, an artist, she may have occasionally been inclined to.” 

He’s not sure why he feels so uncomfortable discussing this. He’s not inexperienced, not a young man. He knows what this is. 

What Leopold is offering him. 

What Agnes had offers him before.

But he does.

Enough that he looks away from Leopold and back to the game for a brief moment.

“That’s the difference then,” Leopold’s voice is hesitant and unsure, “That she was a  _ she _ , whereas I am not as desirable because I’m a man.”

A  _ man _ .

He’s barely more than a  _ boy _ .

Compared to Holden. 

“Gender doesn’t matter to me.”

“Then why won’t you let me blow you?”

The question of the hour.

And when he looks over Leopold, meet those eyes that are familiar enough that he forgets to hold back, he can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want that.

Instead, he kisses him. 

Kisses lips that are warm and respond to him eagerly, mouth opening to invite him inside as a hand curls against his shirt pulling him closer and desperately.  

Kissing lips that taste like beer, pretending that’s not familiar too. 

 

*

 

They’re taking it slowly because he still feels guilty.

He’ll let Leopold kiss him, desperate and passionate or just in a casual greeting, in whichever way strikes his fancy. 

“This was never my intention,” Holden says, one day, when they’re in the lab together. In the middle of talking about virtual reality and cheating death and he can’t stop looking at Leopold. 

Can’t help when the boy leans against him as though it’s second nature.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Leopold points out, though he doesn’t lean away, “Like you regret this.”

This is a problem.

A big problem.

A  _ problem  _ that he’s going to have to take care of later once Leopold is gone, in the shower, like he’s done this past week and- 

“Or I could take care of it now.”

He doesn’t realize he had been speaking out loud until Leopold speaks up, shifting slightly so he can look at him with intent. 

It’s impossible to miss it. 

“I can’t sleep with you.” 

Leopold jerks away from him like he’s been stung. 

Putting space between them suddenly, his voice almost angry, shaking with it, and it’s too much. “I don’t get it. We discussed - we did - you said you were interested in me. What’s the point of taking it slow? I want - I want you to fuck me. I owe you - yeah - but it’s not - I’d want to even if - Please just.”

This anger is different than the anger he’s known before.

It’s shaken and stops and starts and hands that clench at his sides while his face turns an embarrassed shade of red. 

This is  _ Leopold _ , uniquely him. 

Holden can’t handle the fact that he find  _ this  _ endearing. 

“Go back to SHIELD, we’re done for the day.”

He tells himself he’s only imaging the way those blue eyes seem ribbed with red, before Leopold turns on his heel and leaves the lab. 

 

*

 

The next time Leopold comes over to watch a match he brings Jemma. 

He laughs a bit too loud at her jokes, leans into her space, but he makes eye contact with Holden over her head and he knows this trick.

The apple doesn't fall from the tree.

Two can play this is game, which is why when he gets up to grab another beer, he pauses hand resting on Leopold’s joke and calls him  _ son  _ before asking if he needs another.

It’s impossible to miss the way Leopold shivers against his touch. The way his eyes look darker the next time they meet.

 

*

 

The next time he comes over they don’t make it past the doorway. Holden kisses him dropping all pretense of football or science, and focusing on what he’s wanted since the day in the lab when he had him on his knees.

Since before that if he was being honest with himself. 

He listens to the way the boy moans against his lips, thrusting against his hips involuntarily, as if he cannot control himself.

The boy.

_ His  _ boy. 

“I want to blow you,” Leopold says when they break apart for air, as he’s been saying for weeks.

“I want to fuck you,” Holden says when they break apart for air, admitting it for the first time. 

The, “Please,” he gets in return is so broken and desperate that Holden regrets this taking so long.

Regrets not pushing Leopold down onto his bed sheets before.

Now he can’t even think of making it to the bed.

“Couch,” he says, and Leopold goes without question.

Producing a packet of lube and a condom from his pocket with the smallest hint of embarrassment, as if being prepared was something to be ashamed of. Not something that Holden was thankful for.

“Thinking ahead?”

“I had hoped-” Leopold says, color high on his cheeks, “-It’s not - I just thought-”

He kisses him so he doesn’t have to explain what it is that he thought. 

Fumbles with the buttons on his pants instead of talking. 

Tugs a shirt over his head so that he can admire the body laid out before him. 

He’s a bit too old for this, fucking on the couch while the football match plays in the background, but it’s a throwback. To days long past. To a college dorm room and a man that would insist in the morning that he wasn’t gay, that this didn’t mean anything. 

Back then he was the one being pushed into the couch cushions. The one sucking on fingers, and pressing up desperately in need of more. The one trembling like a leaf at that first  _ push _ . 

This is different.

They’re different people.

In a different city.

Under different circumstances. 

But Leopold calls him  _ Daddy _ , and Holden calls him  _ Al,  _ and there’s something poetic about that, both of them imaging the same man.

 

*

 

They lay there in the aftermath.

Breathing in perfect synchronization. 

Knowing that this is going to happen again. 

Knowing that this was a mistake.

Knowing that this is inevitable.

He had known the second he met the boy that there was something special about him. 

He just had never imagined it would be  _ this _ . 

  
  
  
  



End file.
